I think my first word was “aiwpwane!”. My second-earliest memory is at age three, when my dad took me to a friend’s hangar to see his Cessna 172. I clearly remember sitting in the pilot’s seat, pulling the yoke and making airplane noises.
As an early teenager, I spent almost every spare moment hanging around our local airport, and managed to get a couple rides. I lacked motivation and confidence and didn’t get off my butt to become a pilot until I was 34. I always thought it was too expensive, but my wife was a far better fiscal administrator than I was, and we made it happen.(Hint - fancy paint, leather seats, the latest electronics, and airline pilot uniforms don’t make planes fly. Stick with Part 61 flight training.)
I got my private certificate, built time in rental planes, and bought a share of a Cessna 172, and got more ratings. I flew as often as I could afford, usually an hour or two a week.
I got to fly for work, with a career in law enforcement. Our department flew a 172, which was a collateral duty assignment as we weren’t big enough for a full-time unit. It was fun! Mostly search and rescue, overhead photos of major crime scenes, SWAT support, surveillance of major drug deals and gang leader meetings, and zero traffic enforcement. We left speeders to the Highway Patrol.
In retirement, I live at an airpark and the only “work” I do is an occasional flight review or proficiency training for neighbors. My plan for a retirement career as a flight instructor didn’t pan out, as there are almost no mom-and-pop flight schools within a reasonable distance of home, and I want nothing to do with the highly structured academy type schools, nor with fulltime work.
I have never lost the passion for aviation. In fact, it’s still growing. After 24 years as a pilot, every flight is more special than the last one, I still have childlike enthusiasm, and grin from ear to ear when the tires leave the ground.
